Gevrol was delighted, and rubbed his hands until he almost wore away the skin.
“This is fine,” he sang out, “this is capital. To bring criminals to justice is of no account at all. But to free the innocent, by Jove! that is the last touch of art. Tirauclair, you are an immense wonder; and I bow before you.”
And at the same time, he raised his hat ironically.
“Don’t crush me,” replied the old fellow. “As you know, in spite of my grey hairs, I am young in the profession. Because chance served me three or four times, I became foolishly proud. I have learned too late that I am not all that I had thought myself; I am but an apprentice, and success has turned my head; while you, M. Gevrol, you are the master of all of us. Instead of laughing, pray help me, aid me with your advice and your experience. Alone, I can do nothing, while with your assistance——!”
Gevrol is vain in the highest degree.
Tabaret’s submission tickled his pretensions as a detective immensely; for in reality he thought the old man very clever. He was softened.
“I suppose,” he said patronisingly, “you refer to the La Jonchere affair?”
“Alas! yes, my dear M. Gevrol, I wished to work without you, and I have got myself into a pretty mess.”
Cunning old Tabaret kept his countenance as penitent as that of a sacristan caught eating meat on a Friday; but he was inwardly laughing and rejoicing all the while.
“Conceited fool!” he thought, “I will flatter you so much that you will end by doing everything I want.”